Eternal Undying Chronicles

Chapter 159 What Makes Witches, Witches

Vidalia was inconsolable; her sobs filled the forest as though she'd lost someone dear. But no—her grief was directed at the shredded remains of her dress. A slash from their recent skirmish had ripped the fabric, leaving her chest partially exposed.

She hugged herself, red-faced and trembling, especially in the presence of a man. Alicarde awkwardly averted his gaze, more puzzled than embarrassed. The other witches rushed to comfort her, but Vidalia's tears only seemed to intensify.

The battle, meant to be fierce enough to reshape the landscape, had dwindled to a halt, overshadowed by the witch's wardrobe malfunction.

Malefica's glare burned into him, as though he were the culprit behind Vidalia's misfortune. Alicarde kept his gaze on the ground, avoiding Malefica's eyes, which bore into him with an accusation he didn't feel was warranted.

'Is this... are they for real right now?' he thought, unsure if he should feel guilty or just bewildered.

The emerald-haired witch, Helga, whipped around, pointing an accusing finger at him.

"You lowlife! Take responsibility for your actions!"

Alicarde blinked, his jaw dropping.

"You're kidding, right? I only touched her a little."

Vidalia's cries grew louder at his words, her voice echoing through the trees as though he'd just admitted to something terrible. Alicarde winced, the shock settling in as he watched the three witches fume.

'Did I... actually... cross some line?' he wondered.

'I didn't even mean to!'

Memories flashed back to his earlier encounter with another witch, young Marian, who had panicked after he'd held her hand. She had insisted that unprotected hand-holding could lead to pregnancy until he clarified otherwise.

But these were older witches; surely, they wouldn't be so naive?

Malefica dismounted from Wrath, her expression one of irritated disappointment as she rubbed her temples.

"Can you go one day without being a breast-obsessed degenerate?"

Alicarde threw his hands up in defense.

"I... I didn't do anything! I'm a victim here!"

"Shut up, you beast!" snapped Madera, the violet-haired witch, her tone laced with disdain.

She smiled, but her eyes remained cold.

"I knew you were a beast, but to go after innocent Vidalia..."

His mind raced, scrambling for a defense.

"What? I didn't... if anything, blame her!"

He pointed at Helga, who shot him a look that could melt steel.

Malefica sighed, stepping between them, her tone soft and diplomatic.

"Sisters, let's calm down and talk this out in a civil manner. We're all part of the same coven, aren't we?"

Helga and Madera exchanged glances, both eventually nodding as they reluctantly agreed.

"Alright, Lady Malefica," Helga said, her gaze still sharp as a blade.

"But Vidalia deserves justice."

Malefica's smile was thin, dangerous.

"Of course. As a fellow victim of this rogue myself, I know all too well the importance of justice."

Alicarde balked as she turned on him.

"Wait, are you kidding me? I'm a victim too!"

he argued, but his protest fell on deaf ears.

'This is hopeless, In these situations, no one ever sides with the guy, guilty or not.'

He clicked his tongue in frustration, muttering to himself,

'I should've just collapsed to the ground, wailing before she did.'

"You, of all people, have no right to judge us."

Helga stood and placed a hand on Vidalia's shoulder, also glaring at Malefica.

"She's right... If you had taken your rightful place, we wouldn't have to resort to this desperation."

Alicarde watched the exchange, staying silent and observing Malefica's expression as she bit her lip.

"You're right..." Malefica finally spoke, voice steady.

"And that's why I will take my place as the High Priestess."

The other witches' eyes widened, though Helga narrowed hers suspiciously.

"Why should we believe you?"

Helga demanded.

"You betrayed the coven twice."

Madera nodded.

"She's right. Why should we trust you?"

Malefica met their gazes without flinching.

"I defeated the Great Witch of the Dawn. I inherited the grimoire of the Witch of the Noon, and I have had a thousand years to master my craft. When it comes to magic, there is not a single witch in this coven who can compare."

She stood up, exuding an aura of strength.

"Leading this coven is my birthright."

Vidalia lowered her head, muttering,

"You still abandoned the coven..."

"I did," Malefica replied, her tone softening.

"Back then, I didn't want to lead a coven that despised me."

Vidalia scoffed.

"That hasn't changed. If anything, we hate you more now."

Malefica smiled faintly.

"That's fine by me. I just need to change that opinion. And the fact that you're here talking with me... means that none of you truly want to sacrifice Marian."

Helga narrowed her eyes as the other witches exchanged glances.

Malefica extended her hand.

"Join me... Help me take the pentacle and restore the coven to its former glory—no, help me raise this coven to a greatness it never reached, not even under my grandmother's rule."

The three witches glared at each other, visibly torn.

Madera finally smiled.

"The other witches aren't going to like this."

Helga nodded.

"They'll resist. Even Lady Diana wasn't well-liked because she stole the title from the Enchantress."

Vidalia sighed.

"Why are our leaders always witches that no one likes?"

Seeing their hesitant acceptance, Malefica's smile grew, sensing the shift in their stance. Alicarde, who had been observing, took this as the right moment to interject.

"Isn't being hated kind of what makes witches... witches?"

The witches stared at him, surprised by the odd wisdom in his words.

"Isn't being hated what makes witches witches," they murmured, repeating the thought to themselves.